What Remains
by Ink Spotz
Summary: Greg Lestrade fights hard to grapple with both his past and his present. (Background story)


Chapter 1

"Dad, can you tell me a story?"

The burly frame in the doorway froze; his hand gripping it tightly as if it were going to fall without his grasp. The man with the graying hair turned to look back at the ten year old boy who lay in the bed, looking at him with pleading brown eyes. With his mother's eyes.

"It's late though…"

"Please…." He begged. "One story and I'll be good. I promise."

The boy shifted in the bed to make room for his father to sit down. The father compassionately smiled at that. It was hard for his heart not to warm at his son's gestures. Everything about his son brought him joy. He slowly crossed the expanse of the bedroom, creaking across the floorboards, before sitting down on the edge of his son's mattress. He reached out to run his coarse fingers through the silky brown hair on his head. His son flicked his eyes up to look at his father with a small smile on his features.

"What story do you want to hear?..."

"Can you tell me the story about the mastermind detective?"

He smirked at that. That was always the story his son wanted to hear. He had no idea why he was so fascinated with it, but he never decided to approach the matter because he wanted his son to be able to happy. This story made him happy in a way that he knew he never could.

"Alright, I'll tell you about the mastermind detective, but hmmm…what story of his haven't I told you yet?..."

His son shifted up a bit, ramming his pillow between the mattress and the headboard to create a small hill with it.

"Ah! I know…" His father's eyes lit up then as he looked at his son. "I'll tell you about the time the mastermind detective outsmarted the sly villain during a bomb game…"

His son's eyes grew wider as he listened to his father spin the tale of what transpired. The night life outside their quaint home seemed to fade away as the two of them stayed there. Father and son against the rest of the world. By the time the story reached its conclusion, the son yawned loudly, bearing his yawn in the crook of an elbow. His father chuckled at that, reaching up to ruffle his hair before standing.

"Now, it's time you go to bed."

He reached down to bring the blanket up and tuck his son in. He wanted to tuck him in safely; to show him how much he cared and loved him. He leaned forward to bestow a gentle kiss on his son's forehead.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

The echoing words filled the stale air of the house and his father walked toward the door again. The light from the hallway illuminated him for a moment, casting his elongated shadow back into the room and across the floorboards.

"Dad?..."

"Yes, son?..." He asked quietly as he turned his head slightly to look over his shoulder at his son.

"Thank you for the story. I love you."

The father's heart swelled with pride as he looked back at his son.

"I love you too. Don't ever forget that."

With that, he disappeared from the room and down the hallway. What neither of them realized was that that would be the last time that they would see each other. Neither of them realized what would happen to them later that night.

* * *

The son sat in the back of the ambulance; an orange blanket wrapped firmly about his shivering frame. A light drizzle poured down from the gray black sky above his head in a vain effort to help conquer the red beast on the ground below. But any effort was too late. The boy's brown eyes looked at the black, smoldering remains of his home. The firefighters were still standing near it, coating the black pieces with water from their hoses to make sure all of the flames were contained. The house had been so destroyed by that red beast of the night that now his house had become like a part of the night; a part that had practically vanished into its being.

A detective inspector came over to him; trying to keep his face passive of emotion. His face had stains of soot on them from being too close to the debris. He took a seat beside the boy in the back of the ambulance; the boy still staring absentmindedly at what remained of his home. After a few moments of silence had expired, the boy turned his head to look at the man beside him; his eyes shining with tears yet to be shed.

"Did you…"

The question died in his mouth as he lost the ability to be able to speak.

The detective inspector shook his head, which caused the boy to shed his tears. They coated his pale white cheeks and rushed down them; leaving red tracks in their wake. The detective inspector wished that there was some way he could comfort the sobbing ten year old, but he didn't know where he could even begin.

"How about we get you out of here and get you freshened up a bit?..." suggested the detective inspector softly as he reached out to gently rub the child's shoulders.

The child looked at the remains of his home before looking at the detective inspector, who still had a smile of kindness on his face. He finally nodded his head and followed the detective inspector to his car to get away from the scene. As the car was being driven away from his past, he turned to place a hand on the back window. His small hand fogged up the glass under his touch as the tears seemed to freeze on his face. It was time for him to let go; to start a new chapter wherever that would lead him.

* * *

That boy grew up over the next twenty some odd years into a strapping man. The detective inspector that had taken him home ended up rearing him as his own. He appreciated him trying to step up to the role of a father when it wasn't his responsibility. He rewarded the detective inspector by being studious in his schooling and graduating from the university with a degree that allowed him to become a detective inspector at New Scotland Yard himself.

Even though he grew up with a different "father", he never forgot his real father. The father that tucked him in at night and told him stories until he got sleepy enough to sleep. The father who was built with the spirit of a giant, but confided to a human body. The father that told him tales about the mastermind detective.

Maybe that was why, when he met a man that mirrored the mastermind detective, he was so set and determined to believe wholeheartedly in him. Who cared that he was a high functioning sociopath? Who cared that he was extremely cold and obnoxious at times? He found himself throwing himself behind every word he said. And why shouldn't he? In believing in this man, that was the last way he could remember his real father and keep his memory alive.

He gave a small smirk to his mobile screen before placing it back down on the desktop. He had just sent a text to the mastermind detective in order to get him to come down to the Yard. Yet another murder had surfaced that required his attention. He always found it interesting to watch someone he had believed was fictional solve something that was so real.

Greg Lestrade reached forward to sip from the coffee cup in front of him; a coffee moustache appearing on his face.

Like a child pretending they were a man.


End file.
